


Stardom and Secrecy

by JK Ashavah (ashavah)



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashavah/pseuds/JK%20Ashavah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Capitol, there are some questions you can't answer, no matter how much you want to. For Cinna, on Reaping Day, the question he's avoiding is <i>why</i>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stardom and Secrecy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [r_lee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_lee/gifts).



> My first foray into this fandom not writing about Finnick. Thank you for the wonderful prompt, I really enjoyed writing it.
> 
> My sincerest thanks to Chicklet for volunteering for a last-minute beta, and to Ash for helping me brainstorm.

Another Capitol party.

Not that they called it a party. It was a reception. A launch for the Games for the stylists, the Gamemakers, the prep teams: the people who make the Hunger Games happen but whose official duties don't begin until the tributes arrive in the Capitol. A prelude to the opening ceremonies, giving the Capitol elite -- the _sponsors_ \-- a chance to see how they all reacted to the reapings.

In truth, it was repulsive. So many of the guests were there to glory in the fame the Games had brought them, fame bought by children slaughtered for being from the districts. Cinna had done his part, mingled, watched the televised reapings. He'd listened to the rippling speculation as each name was called.

He'd watched as Katniss Everdeen had run forward to volunteer to save her sister. Heard the laughter and the sympathetic sighs that intermingled among the knots of people standing near him.

"Looks like you have a bold one, Cinna," said Atia Masserly, the long-term stylist for District Three. She lifted her cocktail glass. "Welcome to the Games."

She _hadn't_ wished him well. After all, any good fortune for Cinna would detract from Atia's own chances. To make their mark, to win, was the aim of this room, at the cost of manners.

Cinna, however, had a different motivation, and his smile and nod hid his disgust. There was something to be said for a calm disposition in the Capitol. It hid fear. It hid anger. And it hid the hatred Cinna held for the Hunger Games.

He'd returned to his studio, ready for a long day. He'd had ideas, and he'd discussed them with Portia, the other stylist for District 12 this year, and now he had seen the girl his designs were for. The analysis of the reaping footage from District 12 had already been prepared and delivered by the time he returned from the reception. Katniss' size, shape, coloring, face, and body had been extracted, their details automatically determined by software, images compiled that showed her approaching the platform, mounting it, standing there as her district partner was reaped. All it took was the press of a few buttons and Katniss Everdeen was projected all over his wall.

Cinna stood, arms crossed, visualizing how his designs would look on Katniss. He'd had an idea what she might look like: many of the tributes from District 12 had similiar coloring and build to her, but it was different, designing for a hypothetical tribute and designing for a real girl. He turned to the portfolio he'd been compiling, went through the color swatches and selected the range of reds and oranges that were to be his palette, placed them on the wall next to Katniss, and stepped back.

The costume for the parade would work. And the interview dress. And now that he knew who he would be working with, it was time to make his design a reality. The timeframe was short, but it had to be. And it was the same for them all. Twenty four stylists would be working to make their plans fit their tributes.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been working when a chime sounded, telling him that there was someone waiting to see him. He frowned, the flow of his concentration disturbed.

He'd been prepared with words of rebuke, when he heard the door open, but when he turned, his expression softened into a smile.

"Nella."

She held up two cups. "I knew you'd be busy, so I thought you could use some coffee."

His smile turned further up at the corner. "Always. I have a lot to do today."

His sister held out the cup as she stepped into the studio, her eyes drawn to the spread of Katniss Everdeen and the colors and swatches scattered around the photographs, the sketches and paintings stuck to the wall to one side.

"That's her." Nella's green eyes looked sad as she walked up towards the projections of the photographs. As she stepped in front of the light, the metallic stencils on Nella's cheek shimmered. She raised a hand to touch a piece of fabric.

When she turned back around, her expression was full of doubt. She hadn't said anything about his choice to become a stylist for the Hunger Games. She'd had reason to be dubious. Cinna had always told her working for the Games was something he'd never do, that he valued his integrity far more than any fame or career advancement the Games could bring.

The Games were the pinnacle of many stylists' careers. The stylists for the Games were seen all over Panem, and it was a chance many would never get. But Cinna had never wanted to be one of those people whose careers were drenched in the blood of their tributes.

Her confusion was justified, but he could never tell Nella the truth.

"She deserves a chance," he said, his voice sad in a way it couldn't be in public. Or with anyone but his sister. "Being from District 12 shouldn't mean she's ignored."

"Did you see that little girl from District 11?" Nella asked, her coffee ignored in her hand.

"I think we all did."

She couldn't ask _why_ , but it was there. Why had he turned to the Hunger Games when she, of all people, knew that he saw through the spectacle and glamor? He'd learned that lesson many years ago. He'd always been food at art, but his inspiration to become a stylist had been a victor who chose fashion design as her talent. Her designs were different to anything else being produced in the Capitol at the time, and he'd followed her career with the avid interest of the young in their idols. She'd died young, the cause never really admitted admitted in public but obvious for everyone who'd seen the decline her morphling addiction caused. He'd learned, then, the toll of the Games not only on those killed, but those who survived. 

Why, Nella must be asking herself, would be become a part of that machine when there were so many other things he could do? When he was successful, in a modest way, without the exposure the Games brought and when creativity, not fame, had always been his driving force?

People who didn't know him well believed it when he told them that he'd chosen District 12 because they weren't really associated with any particular stylist. That gave him a chance to make his name with them, if he wanted to. 

What he could never tell anyone was that there were people who met in secret, dealing in quiet manipulations. They felt the way that he felt about so many things. They refused to accept the brutality of the Games and the lives that the districts lived to pay for the comfort of the well-off in the Capitol. And they were extending their influence into the Games. Plutarch Heavensbee had suggested that having a stylist in an unpopular district who was a member of their conspiracy could be useful. The Hunger Games was the single largest media and propaganda exercise in all of Panem. And all of Panem saw it, by law. If that power could be manipulated, just right, it could be to their advantage.

There was so much more at stake than a career. There were lives at stake; lives he did not want to see lost. And as Nella's accusing eyes looked at him, at his design wall, and at Katniss Everdeen, he knew that there was only one thing he could do to save Katniss Everdeen's life: make her a star. And only one thing he could to to protect Nella's: keep his sister unknowing of his true feelings.

"The only way I can help Katniss is to do my job," he told Nella, softly, walking over to her. "She's from District 12. She'll be at a disadvantage from the start. I can change that."

They'd always been close, Cinna and Nella. But being close to him, knowing too many truths, was dangerous, now. So he turned the conversation to lighter things, told her about the project he'd just finished, and listened to her tell him about her husband's upcoming trip to District Three. And when their cups were empty, he kissed her on the cheek and told her he'd see her after the Games.

He was glad she'd come. Not just because it had been good to see her, but because the conversation had focused him on just what he was doing.

Helping save Katniss Everdeen.


End file.
